


Potentially

by jetaimehiddles (certifiablemess)



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Actor Tom, Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, actor!tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiablemess/pseuds/jetaimehiddles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the September of 2011, Eleanor Porter is not expecting to make it to the cinema on time. She doesn’t expect the random act of kindness from a stranger, who gives her a spare ticket, when the session is sold out. Most of all, Elle doesn’t expect that night to be the beginning of, potentially, something great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September, 2011: A Random Act of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> This is definitely not my first time writing a fanfic, but it's my first Tom!fic. I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I've got a really clear idea of where I want it to go and what I want to happen, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Updates will probably be pretty sporadic, as I'm currently in my first year of uni (and I'm also a massive procrastinator), but I hope that you stick around if you enjoy the first chapter because there is definitely more to come and I will try my best to make it worth your time. 
> 
> I also have a fancast in mind for this fic already, so let me know if you want me to post that at the end of each chapter. I personally think that it ruins the imagination aspect of having original characters, but if you would like me to post who I have in mind for each character (besides Tom himself, of course) I will gladly do so :)
> 
> Vote/comment if you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy! x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs of the Chapter:  
> \- Stole My Heart by One Direction  
> \- Hey, Soul Sister by Train

I'm not going to make it. There's no way I'll make it.

No matter how fast I run, I'm not going to make it in time. Rush hour is the worst, so taking a cab isn't an option and neither is the subway. I can't handle people invading my personal space, let alone having someone breathe in my face for 30 minutes. Running is my best, and only, option.

 

The movie starts at 5:30pm and, since I got off work at 5, I thought that I could make it in time. It's only a 20 minute walk, according to Google Maps, and the ads and trailers play for at least 15 minutes so how much could I miss? Plus, I'm running so that's got to cut down my ETA in some way. It does, because it's 5:17pm I am outside the cinema. Slowing to a halt outside the doors, I try and compose myself before stepping out of the chaos, that is New York City rush hour; into the tranquil atmosphere of the movie theatre foyer. Letting out a heavy sigh, I try to steady my breath.

 

_I actually made it, and with 3 minutes to spare. Take that, Google Maps._

 

I look up at the movie sessions board for the film that I have literally come running to watch.

 

_The Help - 5:30pm_

 

The text was flashing between the session time and the word 'few'.

Dear God, I hope I make this movie. I did not run 8 blocks to miss this movie. Tapping my foot while waiting in line, I keep a close eye on the board. I'm third in line, but the wait to buy my ticket is starting to make me feel like centuries have passed. My eyes keep flickering back and forth, from the board to the line, and I could feel my heart pounding hard. I'm not sure if it was from the running, or anxiety.

 

Finally, the cashier calls "Next!" and I sigh with relief (or possibly from the adrenaline).

"Hi, could I please I get an adult to The Help at 5:30?" I ask, pulling out my wallet.  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that session just sold out." He points at the panel above us and my eyes shoot up to see the word 'FULL' in aggressive, red LED text, where 5 seconds ago it said '5:30'.  
"Are you serious?" I groan, throwing my head back.  
"I'm afraid so, sorry ma'am."  
Shaking my head, I put my wallet away and give him a small smile. "Don't worry about it," I say, before walking away.

 

It's not his fault that I missed seeing the movie that I'm meant to review. I could catch the next session but the next showing finishes way too late for a work night. I wouldn't make it in time to the evening session at the cinema on the other side of the city, either.

 

As I walk out the door, I shake my head and mutter to myself, "I knew I should have booked in advance." I must have looked crazy to some people but, hey, maybe I am. Aren't we all, in some capacity? Of course, right on cue, here come the deep thoughts that I come up with to avoid my own self-loathing.

 

_We're all human, we all make mistakes, yadda yadda yadda..._

 

"Excuse me?"

I jump, startled by the low and gentle voice that came from behind me. I turn around and - man, this guy is tall as hell. My eyes are at his chest, if that, so that I have to tilt my head up to make eye contact.  
"Yes?" I reply, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets.  
The guy, who is wearing a cap that almost covers half of his face, says to me, "The guy at the cashier said that you were trying to get a ticket to The Help at 5:30?"

I scan him up and down, seeing nothing that really sets off the alarms in my mind. His hair is black and slick under his cap, as far as I can tell, and he's tall and lean but he not in an intimidating way.

 

I nod, cautiously, in response. "Yeah, they just sold out. I'll catch it another time, I guess."

The man seems to hesitate slightly, before pulling out his wallet. "Forgive me if I seem forward, but my friend couldn't make it tonight so I have a spare. I was behind you in line, and I was hoping to refund it but since I can't, would you mind taking it off my hands?" He pulls out two tickets and looks down at me - not in a condescending way, he's just really freaking tall.

Inside, I'm doing leaps and rejoicing that I don't have to run around the city again for a movie, but outside I'm a bit more cautious. I can't tell if his friend actually bailed on him, or if he's one of those hook-up-in-the-back-row guys with a line that's worked before.

With that British accent? I wouldn't be surprised if it had worked in the past, if he were the latter kind.

I laugh nervously, before asking, "Are you sure?"  
He nods without any hesitation whatsoever. "Yes, of course. I don't need it, so you may as well have it," he says, with enough sincerity to convince me.  
"Alright, deal," I say, giving him a smile and reaching for my wallet to pay him.  
"Fantastic!" He grins. "Well, you take that..." he hands me a ticket and, in return, I hold out the money towards him. "Oh no, darling, it's quite alright," he says, declining my handful of cash. Who does that?

Puzzled, I assure him, "No, it's fine I'm buying it off of you. Technically, it's your money," I reply, holding it in front of him again.  
He shakes his head. "No, no, it's fine. I made a mistake and bought an extra ticket when it isn't needed. It's yours, just take it."  
I stare at the ticket in his hand and look up at his half-hidden face. I don't know what it is about this guy, but he just seems so damn genuine that he doesn't even look like he's capable of lying to anyone.

"Consider it a random act of kindness," he adds when he sees that I'm not fully convinced. "Alright, fine," I say, a tad skeptically because c'mon who turns down money? I put away my wallet and take the ticket from him. Making eye contact again, I thank him as honestly as I can.

"Thank you," he replies, smiling. He checks at his watch, he adds, "Right on time, too."  
I check my watch and it's 5:30 on the dot.  
"Shall we?" he asks, holding an arm out towards the cinema entrance.  
I smile at him again and head inside.

 

We head up the stairs together, in silence, until I spot the candy bar and coffee station. "Wait," I clear my throat, breaking the silence. "Can I at least buy you a drink or a popcorn or something?" I offer. "You gave me the ticket for free, I feel like I should repay you in some way." He shakes his head again, still smiling. "No, it's really alright. We helped each other out, it's no big deal," he shrugs. I raise my eyebrows at him, expecting him to change his mind at the last second (because who turns down money AND free food?), but his smile doesn't falter and he stays quiet. "Alright," I sigh, accepting defeat, and we keep walking.

 

Before we head into the theatre, I stop him again. "Um, I just wanted to thank you again, for the ticket. You've saved me a lot of running around, and I'm really grateful for that," I tell him, with a smile and as much conviction as I can muster. I still don't sound nearly as honest as he looks. He smiles, shaking his head. "You're very welcome."

 

We stand there for a second, just smiling at each other. The only thought running through my head is how tall this guy is. Or maybe I'm just really short. Probably both. I don't really notice anything else about him, since his cap is covering half his face and the corridor that we're in is dimly lit. His smile is insanely cute, though, accompanied with a couple of dimples and a killer jawline.

 

When he shifts on his feet and moves to open the door to the theatre, I quickly tell him to enjoy the movie and excuse myself to the bathroom. That's the last time I see him that night.

 

\---

It's unusually chilly for September, I notice, when I step outside. It's 6am, and the sun is just starting to show itself, but I promised myself that I'd go for a morning run once every fortnight. As someone who highly values their sleep, waking at 5:30am in the name of exercise once a week seemed unrealistic so I'm trying to ease myself into that mindset. It was once a month for the past few months, so this September I've decided to up the ante. Little steps, right?

 

It's not that I don't enjoy mornings, I'm just not a morning person. I love seeing the sunrise and being up early so I can be more productive during the day, but sleeping in is so much more comfortable. Especially on the rare occasion of a day off, like today.

I try not to think too much when I'm running since my mind is clouded with too much thought during the day. My roommate, Carol, asks me to go out with her sometimes, but a night out surrounded by people getting drunk or who are already drunk is so much more stressful than it is inebriating. So instead, I opt for exercise. What a wonderful idea for someone who never took gym class seriously.

By the time I make it to the park, the sun is starting to rise. I run around the lot twice before I feel the burn in my lungs and legs, forcing me to find solace on a nearby bench or I might actually throw up. I can feel the burning in my body: from my aching quads to the pounding in my head. I feel like I'm never going to be able to breathe properly again, and that's how I know I've done well. It sounds crazy but losing all my breath and watching the sunrise is when I feel the most alive. I'm not quite sure why.

When I feel like I can stand without toppling over, I start my slow jog home. It's some time around 6:30am right now, so I'll probably get home just before Carol wakes up. Carol the Early Bird. I don't know how she does it but, we have an unspoken pact between us that if she wakes me up before 8am, I will not hesitate to set several alarms on her phone to ring several times throughout the night. I'm not saying it's happened before, but she understands my sleeping habits and I understand hers. It works.

I make it back to the apartment in 15 minutes and quickly hop into the shower. The walls in our apartment are pretty thin and, considering that Carol's room is next to the bathroom, she'll probably be awoken by the running shower. It doesn't really matter though because she usually lays awake for a while before her alarm goes off, as if her natural body alarm wakes her up before her phone does.

I let the room steam for a bit before I step into the shower, the hot water instantly relaxing the muscles that I didn't even know I was tensing. I'm so relaxed, at this point, that I start humming quietly (or at least what I thought was quietly). My humming turns to singing and suddenly I'm having a full on shower karaoke session, holding my hand in a fist like I'm holding a microphone. I don't even realise I'm singing so loudly until I hear a knock on the bathroom door, making me freeze.

 

"You're doing it again!" I hear Carol's muffled voice call through the door.

I laugh, slicking my wet hair back and off my face, yelling back, "Sorry, Carrie!"

 

I get out of the shower and head into the living room, where Carol is on the couch, eating cereal and watching TV. Her eyes leave the screen for a second to glance at me, as if to say 'good morning'. She doesn't have work today, so I don't know why she's already dressed - heels and all - so early in the morning.

 

"What's with the work outfit?" I ask, picking up my bowl on the countertop that she already made up for me. I take a spoonful before joining her on the couch. "Have you even showered yet?"

 

She doesn't avert her gaze from the TV when she replies. "Paul called an emergency meeting this morning. One of the board members doesn't like the format or language we used in this month's newsletter, or something like that," she says, with no panic or worry. "And yes, I have," she says, this time raising an eyebrow at me.

Carrie's the social media manager for Broadway.com, so she controls what goes out to the public and what doesn't. She graduated two years before me, and during that time she interned at a public relations company in midtown Manhattan and scored a job there when her internship finished. When she saw that Broadway.com needed someone to mediate their social media activities, she applied right away - her inner theatre enthusiast taking over - and she's been there ever since.

 

I smile, scooping up another mouthful. "What time do you have to go in?"

As if on cue, her phone buzzes on the arm of the chair. She grimaces when she sees the message. "It was meant to be at 9, but they've just pushed it back to 11," she huffed, looking down at her already-dressed self.

"We could always go for a Starbucks run?" I offer. "It's only 7 now, we can leave in half an hour and get coffee across the road from the office?" She looks kind of shocked, before shaking her head.

"No, it's your day off and you woke up at the crack of dawn this morning..." She starts saying, and I hold a hand up to stop her.

"It's fine, I want to get out for a bit," I say, taking her empty bowl and mine to the kitchen sink. "Besides, we've hardly had time to hang out with each other lately."

"Elle, we live together."

"So?" I shrug, raising my eyebrows. "You've been working non-stop in midtown Manhattan and I've been busy in Brooklyn with my internship - plus part-timing at the book store. We're like two ships passing in the night."

 

She laughs at that, getting up from the couch and joining me at the countertops that make up our kitchen. "You and your metaphors," she rests her elbows on the counter, smiling.

"Similes," I correct her. I turn around to wash the dishes, when she suddenly comes up beside me and nudges me out of the way.

 

I look at her quizzically. "What are you doing?"

"The dishes," she raises an eyebrow at me, looking me up and down. "If we're leaving in half an hour, you're going to have to get dressed." She says, smirking.

I laugh again, dropping the dishes, and heading back to my room to get dressed. I'm so glad Carol is my roommate.

 

When we walk into the coffee house, it's relatively empty for Starbuck. My eyes sweep over the guy at the back of the line - which, really, is just third in line - and I can't help but notice how spectacularly tall he is. Not to mention his pitch black hair.

 

 _Kinda like Movie Ticket Guy_ , I think to myself.

 

I haven't told Carrie about the stranger's random act of kindness that night, because I know she'd make a big deal out of it. Meaning, a lot of "you should've gotten his number"s and "why didn't you ask him his name"s would have been directed at me. The name thing would have really bugged her, and eventually me, but it wasn't a big deal so why make it one? Besides, there are millions of people in New York. The chances of us ever seeing each other again are statistically insignificant. Translation: no big deal at all.

 

"Empty chairs at empty tables," Carrie whispers dramatically while looking around the room. I roll my eyes and murmur back, "Why do you insist on making everything sad and theatre-related?"

"They come hand-in-hand, Elle, I can't help it. Oh! There's an empty booth with our names on it - you know my order right?"

 

Before I can answer her, she's gone off to sit down. I make my way to the line, and just as I get there it's the tall guy's turn to order.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, if you can even call it that. I just happened to hear his voice when he was giving his order, and he has the same accent and the same deep, mesmerising voice as Movie Ticket Guy. I'm not quite sure what comes over me when I take a step forward and tap him on the shoulder. Oh God, what am I doing?

He turns around and I see his face more clearly now - more clearly than I could at the cinema. I don't have time to admire his other features, because my heart is pounding in my ears and I have to say something before I look like a complete lunatic. He furrows his brow at me, not in an annoyed way, but instead he looks kind of panicked.

"Um, e-excuse me," I stammer. Did I mention that he has really bright, blue eyes? Because he does, and I kind of get lost in them for a second, until I realise I can't stop speaking mid-sentence . "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but...are you the guy that gave me a movie ticket the other day?"

 

He immediately looks relieved when I ask about the ticket, as if he were expecting me to say something else. Does he get approached often? Am I a total weirdo for asking him? Probably, but that's just a day in my life if I'm being honest. He smiles and, yep, he is definitely Movie Ticket Guy.

"Yes, that would be me," he says.

 

Before I can even comprehend what I'm doing, I step up to the counter and say, "This one's on me."

Movie Ticket Guy seems sort of baffled, and immediately objects. "No, no it's fine-"

"Consider it a random act of kindness," I quote him, smirking. He shakes his head, but he's smiling and accepts it. I order an iced latte for me and a caramel macchiato for Carol before the barista asks for our names. "Elle, for the latte and macchiato."

 

"And yours, sir?"

I glance over at him, and he hesitates before he says, "Will."

The cashier writes our names on the cups and we're ushered to the orders side.

 

"Thank you for that, Elle, you didn't have to," Movie Ticket Guy - Will says. My name sounds great coming from him, but that isn't anything significant.

 

For some reason I giggle, and his eyes are looking into mine. Wow, his eyes are blue as hell. "It's no problem. I'm shouting today's coffee anyway," I say, pointing my thumb over at Carrie who - thank God - is immersed in whatever is on her phone. "Plus, I owe you one for the ticket."

Will chuckles, shrugging. "It was no big deal," he says. An inevitable, awkward silence falls between us and I can feel my palms getting sweaty. I'm trying to think of a conversation starter, but nothing is coming to mind except how crystal clear his eyes are, goddammit.

 

Thankfully, the painful silence doesn't last for long as Will clears his throat.

He takes a deep breath, as if he's nervous, and asks, "So, what did you think of the movie?"

"I loved it. Especially Celia, I mean, she has such a tragic story and her character is played so well." The words roll out of my mouth before I can comprehend what I'm saying. It must sound good though, because Will is watching me and listening to me speak very intently. "She was the nicest woman out of all of the housewives, the only morally decent adult worthy of raising a child, yet she was the only one who couldn't. Also Minny's shit pie was potentially the best thing I've ever seen in a film."

 

He laughs loudly at that last part, nodding his head. "Absolutely hilarious, yeah, I agree," he says, a smile on his face. "Minny was one of my favourite characters and, I may be bias because I'm friends with the actress but, Celia was definitely one of my favourites too."

I grin back at him. "Well, tell your friend that she's amazing, and that I can't wait to see more of her work, because she nailed it. Her performance had me speechless, I just...wow. Speechless." "I'll pass it on," he chuckles.

 

"Will? Elle?"

 

We both look up at the counter and see our drinks. When we go up to grab them I ask if he wants to sit down, gesturing over at Carrie again.

He frowns slightly, shaking his head no. "I'd love to, but I've got to run," he says apologetically. "Duty calls, I'm afraid." I nod, looking him up and down as I do. He's dressed pretty casually for work - jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket - but I don't think too much about it.

I wave it off, smiling. "It's fine," I say. We pause briefly, again, just smiling at each other before I speak up again. "I'll let you get going - it was good seeing you again, and being able to repay you,"

He grins at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It was good to see you too - and thank you for the coffee, you really didn't have to." "Well now we're even," I can't help but smile wider at him, his happiness is infectious. "Bye, Will,"

His smile falters slightly, when I say his name. Does he not like his name or something?

Before I can think too much of it, he says, "Goodbye, Elle," and walks out of the coffee shop.

 

Sighing, I turn around to see Carol's eyes follow Will until he's out the door. She smirks at me, and I can see it coming. Here we go.

As soon as I put our drinks down, the interrogation begins.

"Who was that?" She asks, sitting up straight, hands folded in front of her.

"Who was who?" I throw back at her, hoping she drops it. She won't.

She raises an eyebrow at me and nods at the door. "Are we really going to ignore the fact that you were just talking to a guy - a real life guy - who isn't a coworker or Alfie?"

I shrug. "He's just a guy I met the other night. And I went out with Alfie once."  
"Three times, actually. Also, you don't stay out late enough to meet guys at night."

"I was late to the movie the night before last, he had a spare ticket that he offered and gave to me for free. I just returned the favour," I say warily. I roll my eyes and ignore her matter-of-fact tone, hoping she'll drop it now. She doesn't.

"What?! Why didn't I hear about this before?" She demands, so loudly that I have to shush her. I pass her a few sachets of sugar for her coffee and she almost snatches it off the table.

I shrug again, taking the lid off my cup and adding some sugar. "He's just some guy."

She eyes me skeptically and pauses, before asking, "That's why you wanted to come in to the city today, isn't it? You two arranged to meet up!"

"Um, no." I deadpan, shutting her down immediately. "We just happened to run into each other." I stir my coffee and take a sip. Maybe if I keep drinking she'll stop, I think. She doesn't.

"Are you kidding me?" Carrie throws her hands up, sugar sachets in hand, in what I can only interpret as frustration. "You expect me to believe that you just so happened to meet some guy and run into him in the same Starbucks, in the same part of the city, within the same week?" Her voice gets higher and louder the more she talks. Or, I guess, berates me. Before she continues though, she takes a deep breath and calms down a bit. She says quietly, "Elle, do you know how many Starbucks there are in Manhattan? Do you know how many people there are in this city, at any given moment?"

"I didn't expect to see him again, okay?" I sigh, avoiding eye contact. I set down my cup and when I look at her, she still seems unconvinced and annoyed. I frown, throwing out the last piece of information I gathered about Will - besides his name. "He's British, so I didn't think I'd see him again, alright?"

Carrie's eyes widen and I'm sure they'd pop out of her head if they could, like one of those creepy novelty pens for kids. Her jaw is dropped open, and I don't know why she's so stunned. "Are you kidding me?" She almost whispers, the quietest she's been the whole morning. I can't tell if she's asking me seriously, or rhetorically, so I shake my head. "Oh my God! He's British - are you serious?! Elle, if you don't want him I am right here." She gestures to herself, saying all of this with more seriousness in her tone than I've ever heard from her before.

 

Of course that's why she's shell-shocked. I shake my head at her, smiling, and gesture to her drink. "Just drink."


	2. September, 2011: Coincidences and Tours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs of the Chapter:  
> \- The City by Ed Sheeran  
> \- High Hopes by The Vamps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for suddenly disappearing off the face of the Earth - the day after I posted the first chapter I fell horribly ill (seasonal allergies, am I right?). Updates will probably be incredibly sporadic, since I'm in the middle of the uni semester at the moment, but I will try my best to add on when I can.
> 
> Kudos to those who gave this a kudos, comments are always appreciated so don't be shy, and thank you all for reading!
> 
> Enjoy! x

Being in retail is never easy, but working in a bookstore makes the whole experience slightly more worth it. When I'm not writing movie reviews and interning on weekdays, I spend my weekends working at a bookstore in the city for some extra cash. Those bills won't pay themselves, and I have to hold up my end of the rent.

Usually I'm at the back of the store taking inventory for the next week but, on the occasionally quiet Sunday afternoon like today, I'm rearranging and restocking the shelves.

I make my way to the Classic novels section, carrying a boxful of books. I probably should have taken a ladder but life is too short for ladders, and apparently I'm too short for the highest shelf. Which is obviously the shelf that needs to most restocking. Classic. Of course I, being the stubborn person that I am, decide to ignore the fact that the shelf is completely out of my reach and attempt to simply push the books into place, while standing on my toes. I am no more graceful than I am tall and, in my attempt to restock without pulling a muscle, I trip over my own feet and crash directly into a customer walking by.

“Woah!"  
"Oh, shit, sorry!" I exclaim. The only thought that runs through my mind, on a loop, is _God_ _, this guy better not_ _file a complaint and get me fire_ _d. I hope I don't get fired, I mean, everyone makes mistakes and trips up now and then - literally and figura-_   __  
"Fancy seeing you here,"  
In my haste to apologise and pick up the books that I dropped, I didn't take a proper look at the guy I tripped on to (even though, considering the "customer is always right" mantra, I probably should have cared for him first). His voice is oddly familiar though, and when I see his face and smile I know why.

  
"Hi!" I say, a bit too loudly. From the shock? Or the near-death experience adrenaline? "Will, right?"  
His smile is gentle, but he seems hesitant - _again_ \- when I say his name. This guy seriously has an issue with his name, doesn't he?

Will looks down at his shoes, shoving his hands in his pockets. He takes a moment, before he reveals, "Actually, Will's not my real name."

I nod slowly, gathering books in my arms. "Alright. So, you're one of those guys who uses a fake name at Starbucks," I say, not as a question but he nods anyway. "For the anonymity or because you're scared that they'll spell your name wrong?"

He chuckles, shaking his head and looking me in the eyes again. _Have I mentioned that his eyes are incredibly blue?_ He brushes off my joke, extending a hand out to me.

   
"My name's Tom," he says. I shuffle the books around in my arms to shake his hand.  
"Eleanor. But you can call me Elle," I reply. I can't imagine how they'd spell 'Tom' incorrectly, so I ask, "Anonymity, huh?"  
He has a cheeky and sly sort of grin on his face, as if he knows a huge and amusing secret. "Something like that."  
Again, not really knowing what else to say or do, I nod and full work mode kicks in.  
"Can I help you look for anything?" I ask him, gesturing around the store. "A specific book or topic?"

  
As if a light bulb goes off in his head, Tom says, "Yeah, erm, would you be able to help me find a copy of Henry V?"  
"The Shakespeare play?"  
"Yes, please. I seem to have left my copy in London," he says, almost bashfully.

  
I nod. London, huh? I gesture to the left of the shelves that we are standing in front of and say, "Right this way."  
We walk a few paces before I stop and scan the shelves quickly for a copy and, surely enough, there it is.

  
"Aha," I mumble, handing it to Tom. "Henry V, ready to go."  
"Fantastic, thank you."  
"You're very welcome. Is there anything else that I can help you with?"  
I quickly neaten up the shelf from where I pulled out the book while he thinks. I turn back to him again, trying not to look like I'm checking him out but that's pretty much impossible since he's a whole foot or so taller than me. Despite that, the only thing I really notice is that he's a bit tanner than a couple days ago.

   
He finally says something, after a beat. "Well, I'm researching Henry V for a role - do you have any historical pieces that I could try?"  
"Yeah, of course - follow me,"

As we walk, I ask him, "So what brings you to New York?"

"What makes you think I don't live here?" He asks back.  
"I hate to break it to you, but your accent kind of gives you away."  
He laughs, nodding.  
I almost laugh with him because his joy is so infectious. I add, "Plus, you said something about London before. I just joined the dots. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine," he shakes his head. "I'm here on business. I'm shooting a film here - well, actually we just wrapped."  
"That's so cool!" I say, jaw dropped. "Any exclusive details? Or is the studio really hush-hush about it?"  
He chuckles, "Unfortunately the latter."  
"Say no more. Unless you want to, in which case, I'm all ears," I say with a playful seriousness.  
He laughs again, and I'm glad he does. Usually I run out of laughs by now, even the cheap ones, but apparently not with Tom.

  
We get to the History section, and I help him find a few books that might be useful. He picks out a few from my recommendations and that's that.

  
"This is plenty, thank you so much for the help," he says graciously, smiling with books in hand.  
"It's what I do,” I shrug. "Do you want me to check you out - your books, I mean?” Fantastic word choice, Elle.   
He grins, but nods, when he sees that I’m slightly flustered. 

 

Of course my incredible conversational skills don't end there. While I'm ringing up Tom's purchase, I suddenly say to him, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're stalking me."

I look up from the register and he raises his eyebrows at me. 

"I could say the same about you," he replies, smoothly. "How do I know it's not the other way around?"

   
I scoff out a laugh. "Well, first of all: I'm from New York - born and raised.  My friend works literally across the road from the Starbucks we were at a few days ago - and, mind you, there is definitely not a shortage of coffee shops in that area." He chuckles while I continue. "Also, I work here. There are hundreds of bookstores in this city, yet here you are. Coincidences are rarely accidental."

  
“Are you saying that you don’t believe in happy accidents?” He asks, an eyebrow still raised.

  
I roll my eyes, scanning his books. “Okay, first of all: that phrase has always sounded like a euphemism for unplanned pregnancies or premature ejaculation."  
Tom laughs again, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.  
“Second: I do, but 3 'happy accidents’...” - I say with air quotes - “…as you call them, have occurred between you and I. I feel like this can’t be considered a coincidence anymore. Ere go, one of us has got to be stalking the other.”   
He’s smiling - he’s shaking his head but still smiling. After a beat, he says, “Let’s just call it a highly improbable, but theoretically possible, scenario."  
“Yeah, well, it’s not so theoretical anymore.” I reach under the counter for a bag, smirking. I put his items into the bag and say, “Okay, that’ll be $56.99,"

  
He pulls out his wallet, and thanks me again. Our hands brush when I hand him his receipt, and despite myself I feel my face heat up. Why am I like this?

  
I clear my throat, and smile at him. “Thanks for shopping with us,"  
“Thank you for helping me out,” he replies.   
Generally, when a customer is done shopping, they leave right after I hand them the receipt - but Tom lingers. He looks at me like he’s thinking about asking me something, but isn’t actually going to say anything. Except he does.

  
“This might sound like a bit of a strange request,” he begins hesitantly, biting his bottom lip. “Erm, most of my cast-mates have already flown out, but I’m in town for a few more days before I have to head off to Toronto. My girlfriend isn’t getting here for another 3 days so, in the mean time, would you mind showing me around the city?"

  
_Okay, so...Toronto…a girlfriend…did he ask me to give him a tour of the city? Did I misunderstand something?_

I don’t notice how long I’m processing all the information he just threw at me, but apparently it was long enough for concern. 

Tom leans towards me slightly. “Elle? Are you alright?"  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head and thoughts away. “I thought you’d never ask. I should warn you, though: once you’ve seen this place you’ll never want to leave,” I challenge him, smirking. _Smooth recovery, Elle, smooth.  
_ “Oh, I think I can handle it,” Tom replies cheekily, grinning. 

  
I grin back at him, unable to help myself - it’s infectious. We exchange phone numbers and agree to meet at Starbucks tomorrow morning. This should be interesting.

* * *

I get to the coffee house a bit earlier than Tom and I had arranged to meet - with Carrie in tow, and she is very curious as to why I insisted on going to the city with her this morning.

“Don’t you have work today?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“No, my supervisor called and said he doesn’t need me today so he’ll have me in for double time tomorrow."  
She arches an eyebrow, looking at me skeptically. “So you decided to wake up early and come to the city with me? On a day off?”   
“What are you implying?” I shoot back.   
She shrugs, shaking her head. “Nothing. You’re awfully defensive, though, and that says more than you’d think,” Carrie says, smiling slyly.  

  
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Alright, you keep speculating then.”   
Carrie puts down her cup and leans toward me, still smiling. She tries to stare me down, but when I don’t break, she finally asks the million dollar question. “So who are you meeting?"

   
“What makes you think I’m meeting somebody?” I sigh, almost laughing to humour her.  
“So you _are_ meeting someone.”   
“I didn’t say that."  
“You say a lot more than you think you do, Elle.”   
My phone buzzes on the table and I quickly grab it before Carrie has the chance to. 

 _Hi Elle, I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit late. Should be there soon though. Sorry! Tom._ I type back a quick “that’s okay” and hit send, before looking up at Carrie again.   
She looks giddy and excited, way more than I am about meeting up with Tom. “Was that him?” She asks, waggling her eyebrows.

  
I roll my eyes again. “You need to calm down,"  
“And you need to get more excited! Elle, you have a date - how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?!” Carrie almost yelled, her hands gesturing wildly.   
“What?! No, it’s not a date!"  
Carrie stops her flailing and claps her hands together in front of her face. “Is it just the two of you?"  
I shrug, nodding.  
“Okay, and who asked who?"  
I sigh, resting my forehead on my palm as if I have a headache - and I feel one coming on very soon - answering her question. “He asked me - and I know what you’re going to say but-"  
“So it is a date!”   
“It is not a date, Carrie!"

 At that exact moment, my phone buzzes again and this time Carrie gets to it before I do. 

“Who’s Tom?” She asks, waving the phone around, still with a smug smirk on her face. “And why is he letting you know that he’s at the door?” 

  
Immediately, before I can stop myself, I turn around and look at the door and see Tom looking around the room. Turning again to face my friend, I grab my phone from her hands and my bag from my chair and stand.

  
“Okay, I will talk to you tonight-“ I say quickly and quietly.  
“Wait is that him?!” She demands, reaching over and holding my arm. "Isn’t that the Movie Ticket Guy?!”  
Somehow I manage to shake her off and say, “Have a great day, see you at home!"

  
I don’t turn around again, and bee-line straight towards the door. Tom spots me and lights up as I head towards him. 

  
“Hey!” He says, giving me a small wave.  
“Hi!” I say, returning the wave. I hold the door open and gesture outside. “Shall we?"  
   
Just as we step out the door, my phone buzzes again. A text from Carrie that simply reads:

 _Have fun ;)_ She’s not going to let me get away with this easily.

* * *

It’s been about two hours or so since Tom and I met up and we’ve ended up having a stroll deep in Central Park. I showed him around the theatre district, Radio City Music Hall, and I showed him a few bars, diners and coffee places that I found to be best in the area (“Whenever my roommate and I meet up for lunch, we always come here - there’s no competition”). Neither of us were hungry, so we decided to skip the diner today and instead headed for the park.

The whole time that we’ve been walking around, though, Tom has had his cap on hiding half of his face and every now and then he flip up his jacket collar. We’re near the lakes when he points out a huge fountain in the middle of the park, so we head down the stairs and sit on its edge. It’s not like we have a magnificent view of anything besides trees from where we’re sitting, but it’s nice just taking it all in. 

“I’m pretty sure they filmed _Enchanted_ here,” I murmur, looking around the park. 

“Yeah, they did,” Tom nods. He twists around in his seat and points up at the terrace that we came down from. “I was actually filming up there, earlier this month,"  
“Oh yeah? The totally secretive movie?” I ask, looking up at where he points.   
He chuckles and adjusts his hat, bringing it even further down if that was possible. “Yep, that would be it,"  
“Can I ask you something?"  
He turns his body towards me and nods. “Sure."  
I pause for moment, breathing in deeply. For some reason I'm nervous so I rip it off like band-aid, blurting out, “Why do you always dress like you’re…I don’t know…trying to not be noticed?” 

  
Tom looks kind of shocked, perplexed, most of all equally as nervous as I feel. He looks away from me, out at the lakes, and takes in a deep breath before answering. “Well. The thing I filmed up there? It’s not exactly a low-profile film. At all. It’s sort of a franchise."  
“What, like, _The Avengers_?” I tease.    
Tom shrugs a little and, when he doesn’t say anything, I know that I’ve hit the nail on the head.  
I don’t mean to act or sound shocked, but it comes pouring out of me. “Wait, are you serious? You were filming _The Avengers_?” I say, almost quietly now that I know why he’s so low-key.  
He rubs the nape of his neck, making eye contact again. “Would that change your perspective on me?"  
“No!” I exclaim, forgetting we’re in public. “No, I mean, you do you, you know? It’s just…kind of a shock.”  
At that, he relaxes, relief sweeping over his expression. 

 

"Sorry," I apologise. "I didn't meant to freak you out or anything."  
He smiles, carefree once again. "It's alright. But to answer your question, I prefer to minimise recognition. Especially when I'm just trying to have a nice day out, you know?"  
I nod, smiling back at him reassuringly.  
"Thanks for understanding, Elle," he says, looking bashful.

  
"It's not a big deal," I wave it off, and segue into another topic. "So, since you're an actor, I'm guessing you like movies?"  
"Absolutely!" He says excitedly, completely lighting up and grinning. "Who doesn't enjoy movies?"  
It's a rhetorical question, but I say matter-of-factly, "People who haven't seen the right movie."  
He laughs, nodding in agreement. "Are there any films you're looking forward to?"

   
We stay by the fountain for a while, talking about movies and the industry. He tells me about the Toronto International Film Festival, and that's why he's going to Toronto in a few days. I tell him that I'm an entertainment editorial intern, primarily writing film reviews, and that I work at the bookstore on weekends.

 

We end up talking genres, and Tom says, quite gravely, "This is a very serious question, and I expect an honest answer."

Puzzled, I raise an eyebrow. "Okay?"

He pauses and looks me dead in the eye. “What is...your favourite Disney movie?"

I hold back a laugh and answer, as seriously as he asked, “Oh, hands down, _The Little Mermaid_.” 

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” he says, almost painfully.

I nod enthusiastically, and gesturing wildly with my hands. "It’s got everything you could ever want: mermaids, the ocean, talking sea creatures, and of course the dashingly handsome Prince Eric."

“It’s fantastic, I must admit,” Tom concedes. “But have you ever seen _The Jungle Book_?"

“I’m pretty sure that’s the only Disney movie that I’ve never seen,” I admit.

Tom groans, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Right, one day, I’m going to have to watch it with you - you have no idea what you’re missing. It’s the perfect movie."

 

I laugh, shaking my head. “Alright, but nothing can beat _The Little Mermaid_  in my books."

“Hey, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” he warns jokingly, nudging my shoulder with his.

 

We grab lunch at one of the cafés in the park and head back into the city. Our conversations flow from one topic to another, which is surprising considering that we’ve only just met. I’m not usually so at ease with new people, but something about Tom makes me want to be socially active. 

It’s about 3 o’clock in the afternoon when we decide to call it a day, and he walks me to my station.

“Thank you for showing me around New York, I’ve had a great day,” Tom says. 

“It’s no big deal,” I reply, shaking my head. “You’ve only seen Manhattan though, so next time I’ll show you around Brooklyn.”

He grins. “I’d love that."

We pause for a moment, just smiling at each other. I’m not sure what Tom’s thinking about, but I’m trying to figure out whether or not we’re at a goodbye-hug level or not, because this could go very awkwardly. 

I break the short silence and say, “Well, you have my number, so if you’re ever free in New York City - hit me up."

“Definitely,” he nods, still smiling gently. He takes a step towards me and- _oh, he’s going for the goodbye-hug, alright_.

I wrap my arms around his waist, since it’s the only part of him that I can actually reach without struggling, while his arms wrap all the way around my shoulders. It’s a slightly awkward hug, considering the height difference, but Tom is a good hugger. His hugs are warm, and strong, and fleeting because he is out of my reach before I have the time to react to what just happened. 

 

“Alright,” I speak up, not quite sure what to say.

“Alright,” he copies, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Have fun in Toronto.” I smile at him, turning towards the station stairs.

“Thank you - good luck with the internship."

“Thanks I’ll need it,” I laugh, making Tom chuckle too.

 

“Bye, Elle."

“See you later, Tom."

 

And that’s that. Maybe being a tour guide isn't so bad, after all. Or maybe being Tom's tour guide isn’t so bad. 


	3. October, 2011: Comic-Con Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs of the Chapter:  
> \- Brighter Than The Sun by Colbie Caillat  
> \- Little White Lies by One Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for ghosting, life got hectic and as did uni life. That being said, I promise that I'm not going to abandon this story at any point. I swear it. Mostly because this is something that has been playing around in my mind for a long time and I've planned too much of it to stop writing it any point.
> 
> I've also found that songs have a great influence on what I write, and how I write, so I've decided to include two songs for each chapter that are basically summaries of the chapter itself. I must admit, they don't align perfectly with the story but you'll get the gist of the mood. I'm fairly sure that all the songs that I've chosen, so far and to come in future chapters, are on Spotify for convenience. You have no idea how difficult it is to exclude Taylor Swift songs for a romantically-themed piece of fiction, but somehow I did it. I've tried to make it as eclectic a mix as any, but don't be surprised if the same artists pop up every now and then.
> 
> So, without further ado, here is chapter 3 of Potentially!

Carrie didn't let go of my day with Tom easily. At all. As soon as she got home that night, I was on the stand.

"Hey, dinner’s in the fridge," I called from the couch.  
She didn't respond, and instead stopped right in front of my view of the TV, staring at me expectantly.I stared back her, sighing when she didn't budge. "Do you mind?"  
"Not at all."  
"It was a rhetorical question."  
"Okay, then let me ask you something non-rhetorical: how was your date today?"I rolled my eyes at her, groaning. "It wasn't a date, Carrie."  
She narrowed her eyes at me, giving me a smug smile.  
"Don't give me that look - I'm serious!"  
"Uh huh, yeah and Pete from work asked me out,” she said sarcastically, plopping down beside me on the couch.  
"It was not a date. I showed him around town, we took a walk in the park, and that was it," I said, exasperated. "Besides, he has a girlfriend."Carrie still didn't seem completely convinced but, with a soft "okay then", she let it go. Having been in the cheated position before, Carrie dropped the topic. Or, at least, the romantic undertone.It's been a few weeks since that particular interrogation event, and she hasn't brought it up at all. I don't want to say that I've thought about that day, but I would be lying if I said that it hadn't crossed my mind once or twice.It's not as if I can help it, since I'm surrounded by entertainment news all day at work. I can't seem to shake it, because New York Comic Con is in couple of weeks time and my supervisor is taking me, along with a couple of other interns, to one of the biggest panels at the event: _The Avengers_. I can't help but wonder if Tom is going to be there, let alone contain my excitement for the exclusive preview. There is way too much adrenaline in my system and I'm not sure if I can take it.When I get in from my morning run, the smell of breakfast hits me hard."Good morning," I say, breathlessly, dropping my keys on the kitchen counter. I get some water from the fridge and see that my roommate is making bacon and eggs. I've done my exercise, I'm allowed treat myself."Morning!" she says, oddly cheerily considering that she went out last night. "How was your run?"  
"I felt like I was going to pass out a couple of times so good, I guess," I answer, chugging a glass of water. "How was last night?"  
A slight blush creeps up her neck and she shakes her head. "Nothing special," she shrugs. Strange. Usually she's very open about her clubbing shenanigans.We're quiet for a beat, before I can resist asking, "Alright, what happened?"Carrie has her back to me, but I can see that she's trying to hide a smile. Trying, and failing, very badly because she is full on grinning like a lunatic."Nothing special," she says again, her voice pitched higher than before. "But Pete from work was there last night and he may or may not have bought me a drink."  
I smirk. "Nothing special, huh?"  
She laughs loudly, nervously almost.The thing about Carrie is that she doesn't date. She has not stayed with a guy for longer than 48 hours, if they're lucky. She doesn't get emotionally attached, not because she's afraid of commitment but because everyone else is. _"I don't do relationships,"_ she had said. _"People aren't interested in complicated, and neither am I. If someone says they don't have baggage, they're a liar and I don't fuck with that. I'm just quitting while I'm ahead."_  
 _"Just say it: you're afraid of commitment."_  
 _"Oh no, Elle, I'm not afraid of commitment,"_ she objected, very adamantly. _"I want the white picket fence, I want the stability, I want to go home to someone who's there for me, and sticks around when the going gets tough. What I don't want is all the drama. Why should I carry someone's baggage if they aren't planning on taking a flight?"_ She's been emotionally cynical since the day that I met her, and that's just who she is. I must admit, it's surprising - it's endearing, almost - seeing Carrie get so flustered over someone, especially someone whom she spends more than enough time with at work. In short, Pete from work is very much something special.Just as I’m about to pester her for details, I get a text.  _Hey! I’m going to be in New York in a few weeks time. Fancy meeting up? T_ I’m slightly taken aback, and oddly giddy, when I see that it’s from Tom. It’s flattering that he even thought to contact me, let alone ask me to meet up again, so naturally I’m smiling. Carrie takes it as a sign of my interest in her adventures last night and continues to elaborate in full detail.“…it really wasn’t that big of a deal, and I didn’t expect to see him there, but there he was! And I’m not kidding you, Elle, as soon as we made eye contact he made his way over to me…” she was saying, as I typed out my reply: _Yeah, that’d be great! How long will you be here for?_ “…we started talking - and it wasn’t, like, business talk, it was the are-you-seeing-anyone kind of talk…" _Probably a week, at most. I’ve got to get across the Atlantic again for another project. T_ _Business as usual?_ _You have no idea. At least now we can catch up soon :) T_ _I’m looking forward to it :)_ “…are you even listening?” She’s turned around from the stove, the frying pan and spatula now discarded in the sink. Her hands are on her hips, a questioning look on her face.  
I put down my phone and smile at her, smoothly answering, “Yeah, Pete from work asked if you were dating anyone. You must really like this guy if you’re getting so flustered over him.”  
Carrie shrugs, shaking her head and murmuring objections. “Like I said: he’s nothing special.”   
“Uh huh, whatever you say."  
“Shut up, Elle."

* * *

  
The days leading up to New York Comic Con are more hectic than I imagined they would be. I’ve been kept busy at the office, with an endless stream of articles about the event being sent my way for proof-reading and editing, and before I know it it’s only 2 days away. Tom and I agreed to meet at the diner I showed him last time, where Carrie and I normally go, which of course was met with another round of questions from my roommate. 

“Why can’t I come along?” She whined, gripping my arm like a kid who really wants a toy but their mom won’t buy it for them. "C’mon, Elle, sharing is caring! Even if he has a girlfriend!”  
“Because he’s somewhat famous, and I don’t want him thinking that I’m pimping him out or something,” I reasoned.  
Carrie huffed, seeing my point, and let go of my arm. “Alright, you win this round. Don’t think I’m not going to pester for details, because I most definitely will, Eleanor Porter."  
“Alright, Carol Crawford-Jones.” I replied, mocking her tone.So here I am now, outside the diner waiting for him to arrive. I was surprised that he suggested this place; it may be a hole-in-the-wall, but it’s still relatively close to the city centre. The chances of him being seen are pretty high, but he suggested this place so who am I to convince him to go elsewhere? The facial hair throws me off, and I almost don’t recognise Tom when I see him. He comes in from around the corner with a huge smile when he sees me, and I’m sure I’ve got the exact same expression on my face. “Hi!"  
“Hey!” He says, opening his arms for a hug which I willingly accept. Have I mentioned that he gives really great hugs? Warm, and secure and loving, and gentle. We break out of the embrace, and I can’t help but beam up at him. “I’m starving. Shall we?” He asks, gesturing to the diner. We get a table in the back corner of the diner and look over the menu. “So what’s good here?” Tom asks, breaking the silence.   
“Well, I usually get the Caesar wrap, purely because I love any Caesar flavoured foods,” I tell him, aimlessly scanning the menu. “But if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, Carrie got the pizza burger once and it allegedly 'changed her life’.” I say with air quotes.   
Tom laughs. “Alright, let’s go with that then.” Once a waitress takes our order, Tom immediately asks about my internship.“It’s going well, thanks for asking! Things were pretty hectic in my department last month because of all the film festivals,” I reply. “Speaking of, how was Toronto?"  
“Yeah, it was great!” He says, ecstatic. “The atmosphere is so electric and it was a huge rush just being there, honestly. There are some amazing films coming out in the next year too, so it was great to see a few early.” Tom is all lit up, grinning and giddy, as he says this. "Any film in particular that I should look out for?” I ask.  
“Oh, man,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. He pauses for a moment before answering, “I have to say, all the ones I saw blew me away. Like, _Shame_ with Michael Fassbender, _Drive_ with Ryan Gosling - and Carey Mulligan in both of them - you know they were just spectacular. Definitely go see those if you get a chance."I nod, feeling warm from seeing Tom’s passionate side. “Yeah, I’ve heard around the office that  _Shame_ , in particular, is really…it really hits you hard. If you can excuse the pun.”   
He chuckles and, involuntarily, I do too. I can feel my cheeks burning, and I imagine that my face is slightly pink despite myself. “I just mean that, like,” I start, trying to divert from the innuendo. “I’ve heard that the film challenges the way we see people, as a society and as individuals. Like, here’s a person who clearly has an addiction - something that is so obviously ruining his life, unbeknownst to him - but in the film it isn’t spoken about in a rehabilitative context because it’s…it’s a social shame and socially unacceptable to talk about sex."Tom nods along with me as I speak, and after a beat, he says, “Wow. If they don’t give you a position when your internship ends then they are missing out big time.”  
I feel my face heat up even more, if that's even possible.Before I can respond, Tom adds, "To be honest, there were parts of the film that made me uncomfortable and I wondered why, you know? Like, why don’t we talk about sex more openly? Why don’t we address the fact that it has the potential to be just as addictive, and harrowing, as drugs?"Just as he finishes, our food arrives and I can see that the waitress is slightly uncomfortable as she approaches us. Judging by her reaction, we may have been talking a bit too loudly about things that aren't socially acceptable. I guess that’s why our food arrived so quickly. In between bites, I ask Tom what his favourite film was and he answers with Ralph Fiennes’ _Coriolanus_. “It’s one of his lesser known works, but I’m always a sucker for Shakespeare,” he admits. “I actually saw it with Jessica - she’s amazing in it, as per usual. Susannah was there too, of course."I try not to dwell on the girlfriend part, for his sake and mine, so I just take another bite of my wrap. “There was this film that I heard my supervisor going on about,” I mention. "I think it was called _The Deep Sea_ or something like that..."Tom hums, nodding with a mouthful of food. He swallows and asks, “ _The Deep Blue Sea_?"  
“Yeah, that’s it! One of the more romantic ones - have you heard of it? Apparently it was pretty intense. Well-received, but intense."  
He laughs, taking another bite.  
Slightly confused, I ask him, “What?"He shakes his head, amused. “Nothing, it’s just…” he shrugs. “That’s actually the film that I was there to promote."  
“Oh!” I exclaim, one hand covering my mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t realise. I just heard the title floating around so I thought I’d ask."  
“It’s fine, Elle.” Tom says, with a gentle smile and without a trace of annoyance. “I just don’t tend to look at reviews or anything, really."  
“Completely understandable. I won’t say another word.” I reply, smiling reassuringly back at him. When we finish eating, Tom leans back in the seat and rests his hands on his stomach. “That was incredible. Your roommate wasn’t exaggerating when she said that this was the best - I just want pizza burgers for the rest of my life. Do you think they’d deliver overseas?” He asks, dramatically placing a hand on his chest and spinning around to look at the kitchen.I laugh, wiping at my mouth one more time. “If they don’t, I could always airmail it to you. I can’t guarantee that it’ll get there in one piece though,” I tease.   
“Oh, yes please. I’ll assemble it myself if I have to, I don't care. Dear God, how have I gone this long without it?” "You can get one every day that you're here," I suggest, still with a teasing tone.  
At that he sighs, a small chuckle intertwining with the exasperation. "I'm afraid I won't be getting out much, this time."  
"No?"  
He smiles, solemnly almost, and shakes his head. "No. A group of us are going to New York Comic Con for an Avengers panel and then I'm off, unfortunately."I bite my tongue, almost letting slip that I'll be at the event too, and instead give a few words of encouragement. Clearly he's in town for work and I don't want to serve as a distraction while he's doing what he needs to do. Neither of us need the distraction, it's a win-win."I've heard that they're really fun, so you should be in for a treat," I tell him, fiddling with my hands. "I imagine you'll only have more junkets after this?"  
"All the way through to next year," he confirms. He's smiling, but his eyes are much sadder than the rest of his features express.Trying not to pry, I ask, "You don't get to stay home much, do you?""No," he answers with a dry laugh. "No, but...such is life, I suppose. I love what I do, and if it means that I can't be in London for more than maybe 3 months a year, then so be it. I don't think that I'll ever get used to it, because how do you get used to being homesick? But, y'know, it's just...acting is what I love and I guess...you can't have it all."I give him a moment, just to collect his thoughts, before I say, "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring down the mood."  
He looks me in the eye and smiles, genuinely this time. He shakes his head, replying, "It's really alright, I know you meant well."I nod, smiling back. "So, London, huh?"  
"Born and raised," he says happily, mirroring what I had said to him about myself and New York. I doubt he remembers, so I'm not quite sure why I do.  
I push back those thoughts and ask him more: about London, about his life there, about what he loves about it. Surprisingly, he's more than enthusiastic and ecstatic to talk about his home. I thought that he'd be even more homesick because of my shitty conversational skills, but he was very much the opposite.“It’s just home, you know? A lot of people complain about the weather and how dreary it can be, but- ” he starts, cut off abruptly by his phone ringing. He grimaces and raises a finger, as a ‘just a moment’ gesture, and turns away from me, apologising. “Sorry, I’ve got take this."He answers the call and, though I try not to eavesdrop, I gather that he has to leave soon, if not now.“Hey, Luke,” he says. “Yeah…yep, alright. Sure. Okay…okay, I’ll be there soon. Yep. Alright. See you then.”With a heavy sigh, and a frown, he faces me again and puts away his phone.“Duty calls?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.  
“Quite literally, yes,” he sighs sadly. “The publicist needs me back at the hotel for an interview, or something like that."  
“Such is life,” I quote him.  
He laughs. “Such is life, yeah.”We make our way out of the diner, and say our goodbyes and give each other our well-wishes. He envelops me in another hug, holding onto my arms ask we pull away, and asks me one last thing.“Lemme know how that internship goes, alright?” He requests, with the most sincere amount of concern and interest.It isn’t just a line, he really does want to know how I go, or maybe I’m just completely naïve. Either way, I grin and nod back at him, saying a quick, “Yes, of course.”   
With a fleeting glance, we wave each other goodbye and go our separate ways.

* * *

  
It’s the day of New York Comic Con and already I’ve been at the convention centre for a few hours.  
   
I met with my supervisor, Wes, and 2 other interns, at the office this morning before Wes drove us all to the event. Traffic was hectic, as per usual, but of course was even worse today around the vicinity. I usually don’t have my phone on me while at work, much less use it, but the ride to the centre was taking forever and the traffic didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. Boredom quickly struck, but it was gone as soon as it got to me. 

My phone buzzed in my hands. When I check who texted me it was none other than the man whom I’d be seeing later today, unbeknownst to him, himself.  _Do you have a Twitter account? T_ A simple question, with a simple answer. I quickly replied. _No…why?_ _I just made an account and tweeted for the first time. Feels strange. T_ _How so?_ _Not so much strange as it is surreal. The Internet is a surreal place. T_ _Well...that’s one way of putting it._ _You can say that again. T_ My focus was drawn away from our conversation when I felt a nudge from my left. I looked over and my fellow intern, Rachel, stared at me with concern. “Are you feeling alright? You’re going a bit red,” Rachel asked, with furrowed brows.   
I clear my throat, smiling at her calmly. “Yeah, I’m fine! It’s just...a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?” I scrambled for an excuse. I could hear the instability in my voice, but Rachel brushed my answer off with a shrug.  
“Loosen your scarf a bit maybe,” she suggested, settling back into her side of the backseat.  _Today’s the big day, isn’t it? Avengers panel day?_ I quickly texted him back.  _Yeah, it’s going to be crazy! How did you know? T_ _A few people from work are going to be reporting there. Hardly a low-key topic. Good luck :) and have fun!_ It wasn’t a lie, technically. The likelihood of us coming face-to-face today was highly unlikely, so there wasn’t really reason to tell him, and that leads us to the present. We have been here since 11 in the morning, floating from booth to booth and getting the odd interview every now and then. Everything had been going as expected, until Wes threw us a curveball. “I didn’t want to tell you guys earlier, because I didn’t want you all to spread rumours or anything,” Wes says, leading us into a green room. "But, not only are we going to the Avengers panel, we are also going to be interviewing two of the cast members."My jaw drops and I can feel my heart racing, faster and faster, by the second. The only thing, or person rather, that I can think of is Tom. He's going to know I'm here and that I, essentially, lied him. Great way to start a friendship.While I'm somewhat subtly shocked, Eric most definitely is not.He starts stammering, "A-are you...serious?! Are you actually being serious here Wes - don't mess around here, man."  
I can see the sweat start to form on his brow and I can't help but laugh nervously with Rachel ,who is almost bouncing with excitement, a huge grin plastered on her face.Wes claps Eric on the shoulder and points a door on the other side of the room. "Eric, you see that door there? In about 20 minutes a couple of people, whom I imagine are very important to your sanity, are going to walk through that door and we are going to have a conversation with them."“Not that I mind who we’re talking to, since everyone on that cast is gorgeous as hell,” Rachel pipes up. “But who exactly will we be talking to?"Wes shrugs, grinning even wider if possible. “Captain America himself, Chris Evans, and the God of Mischief, Tom Hiddleston.” “Oh my God,” Rachel and I say at the same time. Though she exclaims it with excitement, rather than whisper it with anxiety like me.Oh my God, because Tom is going to know that I lied and he’ll think that I’m a pathological liar because of this one time. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but I’m really not going to be making a great impression here. The way I see it, nothing good can come of this conversation. I can feel my stomach twisting every type of knot that you could find in a scout handbook. As if on cue, the doors swing open and in come a couple of security members followed closely by Chris Evans and, of course, Tom.We're one of the last groups to chat to them and I tell myself to calm down and take deep breaths, while they give interview after interview. It's hard not to think about our upcoming conversation when Eric is madly unleashing his excitement out on Wes, and Rachel primping herself and making sure that she looks fantastic for two of the most attractive actors in this generation. I can't blame her, I'd touch up my make-up too if I carried any.At this point, I've zoned out and I don't realise that I'm looking in Tom's general direction as I stare into space.Rachel squeals quietly, "Oh my God, Tom Hiddleston is looking at us, oh my God!"  
I blink and focus again, on Tom and he is in fact looking at us. By instinct, I smile at him and thankfully he returns it - which makes Rachel lose it a bit."Did he just- did he just smile at you? Elle, oh my God! You are so in, you go girl!" Rachel says, and I know she means it in a joking way.  
Before I can help myself, though, I laugh, "No, I'm good. He has a girlfriend, anyway."  
She sighs, in defeat, "I'm not surprised. He's gorgeous as hell."Before I know it, we're up and they are right in front of us. Tom locks eyes with me for a second, his brow furrowed, before Wes finally speaks up with introductions. Oh boy, I feel myself sweating already."Hey, Chris! Tom!" He begins, shaking their hands respectively. "My name's Wes, I hope you don't mind that I brought a couple of my interns today to help out."  
"The more the merrier!" Tom says, chirpily, as Chris murmurs in agreement."Over here we have Eric," Wes says, clapping Eric on the shoulders again.  
Eric is positively tomato red. He couldn't hide his excitement if he tried, and I'm guessing he is trying very hard right now not to make an idiot of himself.  
"Hi, it's so great to meet you guys! I'm super excited for the movie!" He says, incredibly quickly. "And, Chris, I gotta say: the emotion you gave Cap, after Bucky fell from the train, is so incredible! It's so great-"  
Wes clears his throat, seeing that Eric is clearly going to ramble uncontrollably, giving Eric a stern look."Right, sorry. I'm just really excited for The Avengers. It's going to be amazing!"  
"Oh, well thank you, man! We're excited for you guys to see it," Chris says, to which Eric laughs nervously and grins like a madman.Before Eric can start up again, Wes seizes the chance to continue, gesturing to my colleague beside me, "This is Rachel.""It's so great to meet you guys, congrats on the movie!" She says, all smiles and sweetness in her voice that it kind of makes me gag a little bit, though it's most likely just nerves."Thank you very much!" Tom speaks up time, grinning back, charming as ever. I'm sure I hear a deep, infatuated sigh come from her after they shake hands."And this is Eleanor.""Elle, please," I correct, extending a hand to Tom who towers over me. I pretend as if everything is normal and this is the first time that we're meeting. He smirks, and shakes my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. Of reassurance, or as if to say "I see how it is", I'm not sure but I goddamn hope it's the former. And I goddamn hope that neither he nor Chris could feel the clamminess of my hand."It's a pleasure to meet both of you," I utter, my eyes flickering between Chris and Tom.  
"The pleasure is all ours," Tom replies smoothly, a gentle smile returning to his face.Wes leads us all to sit down, and informs us that we each get to ask one question. We let Eric start, since he is obviously bursting to ask anything and everything that comes to mind.“One question only, Eric.” Wes reminds him sternly.“Gotcha, boss,” Eric says, readjusting his glasses. “So, obviously this is a very expansive cast as well as it is an incredibly talented one - what was it like working with some of the greatest actors of all time, and being in costume with them around?” He asks, to which Tom recounts Samuel L. Jackson’s reaction to his Loki costume, and Chris admits to the discomfort of being in the suit for long period of time.It’s Rachel’s turn and I can hear her voice pitch higher than normal, when she asks, “This is sort of a two-part question: who was your favourite superhero as a kid, and who would win in a fight between them and your character?"Instantly, Chris bangs a hand on the table and declares, "Oh, Spider-man. Easy. Easily my favourite!"  
Tom laughs at his co-star's reaction, leaning back in his chair.  
"Spider-Man was the man - he still is!" Chris goes on, with a child-like excitement. "He's just so cool, climbing walls and shooting webs and catching people with his webs...and he's just a kid! I wish my life was that together when I was a kid, but Spider-Man...he had it down!"  
Tom, who is still grinning, pipes up, "But who would win in a fight, though? Cap or Spider-Man? Because I feel like Cap has the braun. Like, if it came down to it..."  
"Yeah, Spider-Man is agile and he's got the webs going and everything," Chris agrees, "but if it came down to a fist-fight or something then Cap- he's definitely going to win then."  
We all laugh at that, and the question turns to Tom."And Tom, what about you?" Rachel asks again, a light blush giving her away."Well, my favourite superhero was Superman. Christopher Reeve as Superman, and-"  
Chris makes a raspberry. "Can you believe this guy? Superman, c'mon man, we're talking Marvel here," he says, making Tom laugh again.Tom shakes his head and grins. "This is turning into a franchise war isn't it? Erm..." He manages to say, before he and Chris burst into a fit of giggles. "Erm, but yes. My favourite superhero is Christopher Reeve's Superman, and I think - I honestly think that Loki would win."  
Chris adds, "You can't compete with a God."  
"Forget Batman vs Superman, let's see Loki vs Superman," Eric interjects, and I'm pretty sure the laughs he gets from Chris and Tom just made his life.I sneak a few glances at Tom while he answers, but he doesn’t notice, being the professional that he is. At least one of us has the capacity to focus, I don’t even understand why I’m so distracted by him. I just am. Stuck in my trance, I don’t realise that it’s actually my turn to ask a question until Rachel nudges me. She raises her eyebrows at me, silently asking if I’m okay, to which I smile back. I feel my face heat up even more when I realise that everyone at the table is staring at me. Karma’s a bitch.I look at Chris as I start saying, “Up until now, we’ve only ever seen the individual dynamics of the Avengers so I was wondering, Chris, if there’s any initial friction between the team members, and Tom,” I meet Tom’s gaze and stutter, momentarily forgetting what I was going to ask. “Um…how is the relationship between Thor and Loki, given that Loki faked his own death?"“That’s an amazing question,” Tom says, taking a deep breath as I let out a quiet huff that I wasn’t aware I was holding. He answers in the most eloquent way, as is the norm for him apparently, and as does Chris though, comparatively, he doesn’t speak as much as Tom does but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Tom is just a talker, I’ve come to notice. He doesn’t give any half-assed answers, he gives you detail and analysis in the most intelligent manner. And just like that, our time is up. Chris and Tom move on to their next interview, and we’re just about to head off to the panel itself, when I start to feel a bit lightheaded and the room feels bit too hot. I see a balcony door behind us and I tell Wes that I’m just going to step outside for a moment. He offers to get me some water but I turn him down, saying I just need some fresh air. Once I step outside, and the cool wind hits me I instantly feel better. My collar and scarf feels a bit tight on my neck, so I unbutton the top two buttons, take off the scarf, and let myself breathe for a moment. Just breathe. I lean against the railing and stare down at the ground level that’s filled with people in all sorts of costumes. I bet a few of them, at least, would kill to have been where I just was. They might even be going to the same panel.I’m out here for barely a minute when I hear the door open behind me and Rachel’s voice call out, “Hey, Wes just wanted me to let you know that we have to go soon. We don’t want to be late.”   
I sigh, closing my eyes. “Alright, thanks Rachel. I’ll be in soon,” I say back, not turning around to face her.  
“You might want to hurry. Chris and Tom are leaving soon too, so if you want to catch another up-close look…”  
I laugh humourlessly, nodding. I hear the door close again, and I breathe in deeply and wonder if I was wrong for not telling Tom that I’d be here. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but I can’t help thinking about how stupid that decision was because, either way, I would’ve been distracted by him as the past 15 minutes just proved.I hear the door open again and the clack of Rachel’s shoes coming towards me. I try not to look too annoyed when I turn around and prematurely say, “Rachel, I’ll be in in a minute, okay?” Prematurely, because it isn’t Rachel standing a few feet in front of me.“Tom. Hi.” I say, stunned into silence. He doesn’t look angry, he’s smiling in fact. “A-aren’t you and Chris meant to be going to the, um, panel now?” I stammer, trying to avoid the elephant on the balcony.  
His smile turns into a smirk, as he says, “So who’s stalking who now?"I falter, scoffing a laugh nervously. I hold my arms up in surrender, answering, “In my defence…I really don’t have a good answer."  
It’s his turn to laugh now, relaxing me because hey - he doesn’t seem to be too angry with me, if he is at all. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to distract you from work, and I didn’t need to be distracted either, but apparently that’s nothing to be concerned about because you’re so…effortlessly well-spoken.” I admit in a rush, before he can cut me short to tell me off. To my surprise, he’s shaking his head at me.  
“It’s alright, Elle,” he says, shrugging. “I understand where you’re coming from. Besides, a little white lie never hurt anybody."I sigh with relief, a smile returning to my face. It’s starting to get a bit chilly outside so I suggest that we head back inside.  
“I should probably- we both should probably get going, if we’re going to be there on time,” I say heading towards the door again.As I pass him by, he gently catches me by the arm, looking down into my brown eyes and asks, “Are you free to get lunch later?"  
Subconsciously, I look around the empty balcony to see if anyone is seeing our little exchange. I look back up at Tom, as he is towering over me. “Are you even allowed out?” I ask back. He shrugs, “They can’t stop me. I mean, Luke - my publicist - can try. But I’m just a person, I’m allowed to hang out with friends too."  
“I know, I just mean…it’s such a high-profile event and all.” I reply. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with him, he’s a great guy, but I don’t want to get in the way of his job. Business as usual, and all. I shake my head, remembering suddenly that I can’t join him even if I wasn't afraid of being a nuisance. “Actually, we have to get on this report as soon as we get back to the office so, I’m afraid I can’t,” I explain, frowning at the idea of editing this article. Distraction central here I come.“Oh, damn, that’s too bad.” He says, grimacing too. “Well, maybe next time we can-"At that moment, a man with short blonde hair and glasses steps out onto the balcony and calls for Tom. “We’ve got to go, Tom. Panel time."  
Tom looks up at the man and gives him a curt nod. “Alright, I’ll be in soon, Luke.”   
The man nods, giving me a quick smile before heading back inside.Tom sighs, shaking head. “Anyways, as I was saying, maybe next time we’ll get to spend some more time together,” he says, smiling hopefully. “With no little white lies getting in the way,” he adds, teasingly.  
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” I laugh. A silent pause falls between us, and I’m not quite sure what to says besides, “You should go. I’ll be right in front of the stage with the rest of the media staff, so...maybe you’ll see me there."  
He nods, smiling. “I’ll keep an eye out."We give each other a quick hug, and I let him go first before I follow him inside a few minutes later. Tom spots me, almost instantly, at the panel and we exchange a few smiles all throughout. By the end, when the cast is exiting the stage, Tom waves to the crowd and, just as he’s about to turn around and leave, he locks eyes with me again and winks. Thankfully, I don’t think Rachel noticed. If she did she probably would have been a squealing mess, just like I am internally right now. That night when I get home, I get a text: _Hopefully we'll see each other more next time! I’ll be sure to let you know if I’m be around. I hope you had a great day, Elle. x T_ Of all the best case scenarios that I imagined, none were as good as this.

 

 


	4. December, 2011: Blue Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs of the Chapter:  
> \- Blue Christmas by Michael Bublé  
> \- Get Over It by McBusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Relatively quick update yay!!! This chapter has blink-and-you'll-miss-it Tom, so just be wary that this is very much a filler chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy! x

_“I’ll have a Blue Christmas, without you, I’ll be so blue just thinking about you..."_

 

Yes, it’s Christmas Eve. Yes, Michael Bublé is blasting from our stereo, courtesy of Carrie. Yes, Carrie is staying in New York for the holidays. Her family had planned to join us, but her sister’s school decided to throw a last minute Christmas play and, by the time we found out about it, Carrie couldn’t afford to fly out to Seattle. Surprisingly, in all the years that she’s spent in New York, she hasn’t had a single Christmas here. 

 

I guess that’s one of the perks of having been in the same city all my life. My parents are always just a train-ride away and holidays are easy, for me at least. My brothers, one younger and one older, are both on the West coast this year. My younger brother is there for college, while my older brother lives in San Francisco with his wife and one-year-old son. So, instead of flying all four of them to the other side of the country for a few days, they’re having their own little family reunion while I spend Christmas with my parents and now, of course, Carrie. It’s not that big of a deal anyways, just a Christmas family dinner later tonight.

 

_“…decorations of red, on a green Christmas tree…"_

 

We don’t have any decorations, since we don’t usually celebrate here, so we went out and bought ourselves a small Christmas tree, some tinsel, and a few decorations to get our apartment into the festive mood. The tree is adorably tiny, standing at barely 5 feet tall, and the tinsel and baubles make it that much cuter. We’re adding the finishing touches to our little Christmas tree, and Carrie is singing along to the rather melancholic holiday song, when there’s a knock on our front door.

 

I adjust a piece of tinsel before heading towards the door, saying, “Carrie, can you turn it down for a second?”  
“Seriously?” She objects incredulously. “Elle, it’s Christmas! What good is Christmas without a bit of Bublé?"

 

I give her a pointed look, and she sighs, turning down the stereo. 

 

“Whoever’s at the door better be worth it,” I hear her mutter.

 

I take a look through the peephole to see who’s at the door, half-expecting it to be Christmas carollers but boy, oh boy, am I wrong.

 

_“…won’t be the same, if you’re not here with me…"_

 

His figure fills the whole doorway, his arms outstretched. He's grinning, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he's clearly excited to be here - but why? Why is he here? Seeing him is like seeing a ghost, and I am stilled by his presence, barely managing to say his name.

 

“Alfie."

 

"Long time no see, Porter!" He exclaims, enveloping me in his arms.  
I blink a few times, still frozen in place. I somehow find it in me to hug him back, just as tightly as he is holding me, but it's taking every single nerve in my body to not do something irrational. 

 

Alfie has always been the touchy-feely sort. It doesn't make me uncomfortable, per se, but with our history it feels awkward and forced at times. Or maybe that's just on my end. He is a pathalogical flirt and, being a forensic psychologist, makes it that much easier for him to get inside other people's heads and - inevitably - their panties. I've fallen victim to his charms on the odd occasion but when we came close to being serious with each other he had to move to D.C. for work. He stopped calling, and it was over just like that.

 

He finally lets go of me, still holding onto my arms as he pulls away. “It’s good to see you, Elle. What’s it been - 6 months?"

 

_Two years, actually_ , I think to myself, having to bite the inside of my cheek to not say it aloud. “What are you doing here?"

 

“Family Christmas trip! I know it was cancelled, but I thought I’d swing by anyway. Didn’t Carrie tell you?"  
I turn around and look at my best friend who is giving me the most innocent of smiles. Faking one myself, I calmly say, “No, she didn’t actually."  
Carrie shrugs, still grinning innocently. “Merry Christmas!” She says, throwing a piece of tinsel in the air.

 

“I hate to ruin the moment,” Alfie starts, and I turn back to face him. Two years has done him good, I must admit. He’s thinner than I remember, and his stubble is graciously spread over his chiseled jawline and—  _oh my God, stop checking out your sort-of-but-not-really ex._ “But can I come in? I really need to use the bathroom."

 

And I’m brought back to reality. I tell him to make himself at home and point out where the bathroom is. He gives Carrie a quick hug, dropping his bag down beside the couch, and once I’m sure he’s in the bathroom I turn around and glare at her with my arms crossed.

 

She is fiddling the tree, pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong with what is happening. I walk over to the kitchen counter and lean against my hands placed on top of it, glaring at her back. 

 

“You couldn’t give me any warning?” I snap at her, quietly so Alfie can’t hear.  
"Surprise?” She tries, turning around to look at me.  
“Carrie, you can’t just ‘surprise’ me with your step-brother, okay? You know there’s history - you need to give me some kind of forewarning!"  
She sighs, leaving the tree be and crossing her arms. “It’s Christmas, Elle. He’s the only family I have this year."  
Damn the guilt trip. I bit my lip, knowing that she’s right and that I was being a bit harsh. I take a deep breath and sigh heavily. “Where is staying?"  
She hesitates and looks at the couch, then looks at me, then back at the couch, and at me again.  
I run a hand through my hair, staring at her with disbelief. “Are you serious?” I ask incredulously. “He’s staying on our couch, and you didn’t think to tell me?!"  
“It’s just for the holidays! He’ll be gone before you know it!” She reasons with me, walking across to where I’m standing. We’re face to face now and I can see the apologetic look in her eyes, she doesn’t have to say it.   
I hear the flush of the toilet and quickly shake my head, taking a few more deep breaths before conceding. “Okay. Okay, fine,” I say, adding very sternly, “but he is not coming with us to my parents’ house for dinner tonight."

 

 

 

And now, half an hour later, we are heading to my parents’ house for dinner - with Alfie in tow. My parents have never met him, and I’m fairly sure that I’ve never even spoken about him to them so this should be an interesting night.

 

Of course, my Dad is the one to answer the door.  
"Darling, how are you? It's great to see you both," he greets, giving myself and Carrie a hug each.  
"Hey, Dad, merry Christmas," I say, kissing his cheek.  
"Merry Christmas, Henry!" Carrie giggles into the hug, and it still feels strange to me that she and my parents are on a first-name basis.  
Once Dad pulls away from us, he pauses for a moment and looks Alfie up and down. Extending a hand, he calmly says, "I don't believe we've met."  
Alfie, suave as ever, meets his handshake and replies, "No, sir, we haven't. It's a pleasure."  
"Henry, this is my step-brother Alfred," Carrie chimes in.  
"Alfred, is it?" Dad reiterates, still with Alfie's hand locked in his.  
"Yes, sir. Please, feel free to call me Alfie," he answers with a charming smile.  
Dad nods curtly, a tight smile on his lips, and finally releases Alfie's hand from his grip. He seems to remember his manners and perks up, inviting us all inside.

 

"You should've told us that you have some extra company," Dad whispers to me on our way upstairs to the kitchen. "We might not have prepared enough for everyone."  
"Please, Mom always makes more than we can handle and you know it," I scold him playfully. I can tell that he's on edge and, once I'm sure that Carrie and Alfie are out of earshot, I add gently, "And relax, Dad. He's just a guy."  
I give him a quick hug, before heading up the rest of the stairs when he mutters, "They're always 'just a guy'."  
"I heard that!"

 

My mother has the complete opposite reaction to my father. She gushes over the presence of Alfie because I’ve never been the “bring him home to meet the parents” kind of girl, at least not voluntarily. The only guy I've ever introduced to my parents was my prom date, and that was not voluntary at all, but more a formality.

 

When my Mom sees me, she raises an eyebrow and gives me a look - the kind that is accusatory, as if I've kept a secret from her. I reciprocate the expression with a smile, hugging her tightly.

 

"Hey, Mom, merry Christmas."  
"Merry Christmas, honey," she kisses me on the cheek. "You should've told me that you had an extra guest! I would've gotten more groceries if I'd known."  
Alfie laughs, and I almost glare at him. Almost. He says, "Trust me, Mrs Porter, this is more than enough.  
"Oh, you can call me Elaine. There's no need to be so formal," my Mom replies, far too giddily than should be allowed.

 

Halfway through dinner, Dad's intial coldness towards Alfie weanes a bit when they are start talking about work. They're in similar lines of work, since Dad was a criminal justice lawyer and Alfie psychoanalyses criminals.  
"How is it working in D.C.? Things probably get pretty intense over there," Dad asks, passing me the bowl of mashed potato.  
"Well, we have our days. We might have an abundance of evals to get through some days, and on others there are none to even try to take off the hands of my colleagues," Alfie answers. He's sat across from me, God knows how that happened, so I can't exactly avoid looking at him. When we do lock eyes, he gives me a small yet fleeting smile and I feel the butterflies. 

 

_Nope, stop it right no_ _w_ , I scold myself internally.

 

Of course, Mom becomes more and more enchanted by him with every word that comes out of his mouth. I can't blame her, because his charm is on full-blast tonight, but I can see right through him. He might put on a great show for my parents, but deep down he is as much of a commitment-phobe as Carrie. He's perhaps even more incapable of sustaining a relationship than Carrie is. Considering that he lies about his desire for a relationship, just to pick up girls and leave them the next morning, speaks volumes of his character. There are two sides to Alfie Jones, and I'm not quite sure that I like either of them, but apparently my subconscious can’t help it.

 

"Carrie, it's a shame that your family couldn't make it," Mom begins, deciding to strike up her own conversation, since the two men are immersed in their business talk.  
Carrie hums sadly. "Yeah, our little sister had a last minute school thing for Christmas so, we all thought it'd be for the best if they stayed in Seattle."  
"It would've been lovely to have met them. Elle's never mentioned anything about you having siblings, so Henry and I were quite shocked when we found out that you have a younger sister and such a dashing older brother," Mom continues, and I give her a stern look at that last part, but I seemed to have only gauged her interest more.

 

At this point, Dad and Alfie have joined our conversation. Having heard that last part, I swear Alfie goes the slightest bit pink.

 

"Thank you, ma'am," he accepts, bashfully. "Actually, Carrie and I aren't biologically related. Our parents got married and had our little sister, Megan, when I was about to head off to college and Carrie was starting junior high. And she was just as moody back then as she is now..." Carrie scoffs at that, and they smirk at each other playfully. "But we didn't really form a bond with each other, until she moved out here for college a few years later."

 

Carrie nodded, taking over the elaboration, "Yeah, Alfie lived in New York for a while after he graduated from college so I stayed with him for a while. Then Elle and I met, and now she can't get rid of me even if she tried!"  
"Trust me, I've tried," I laugh, taking a sip of my wine.  
Across the table, Alfie is laughing with me. "You and me both," he agrees, raising his glass to mine. We clink them and, subconsicously, I take possibly my largest sip of the night.  
Carrie groans, "My best friend and step-brother, conspiring against me as per usual."

 

We're all laughing until my father decides to ruin the moment.

 

He suddenly asks Alfie, over our residual giggles, "How old did you say you were?"  
Clearing his throat and sitting up straight, Alfie answers, "I just turned 30 earlier this year, sir."

 

I raise an eyebrow at my father, asking why that detail would be significant, to which he nods and subtly shrugs at me in response.

 

"30 years old and working with intelligence officers in D.C.. Impressive." Dad says, making his point, though I doubt that's the real reason why he asked.

 

They talk deeply about work-related things again, so the rest of us take that as an invitation to keep eating. When I look at my mother, she wiggles her eyebrows at me and looks between me and Alfie. Maybe I've had too much wine tonight, but I can feel myself blushing against my own will.

 

We finish dinner, and Mom tells me to help out with the washing up. I enjoy spending time with her, even if it's spent washing the dishes, but I know she just wants this opportunity to ask me some questions.

 

"Dinner was great, Mom," I say, lathering the dishes in soap and hot water.  
"Oh, thank you, honey. I'm glad you three could come over tonight, your father and I love having you kids in the house."  
I laugh, "Please, you've barely had Ed out of the house for a few months and you miss 'us kids' already?"  
Smiling, she shakes her head and bluntly jokes, "No, we just want to suck the youth out of you all and keep it for ourselves."  
"Ah, the hidden agenda. There's always one there."  
"You should bring Carrie around more often! Tell her she's welcome here any time she wants - she's practically family now, anyway."  
"Thanks, Mom. I'll let her know," I reply sincerely, and I can't help the huge smile on my face. I know that my parents adore Carrie, but to hear it firsthand is something else.

 

I'm putting away the dishes that she's drying, when there's a lull in our conversation and I can tell that the million dollar topic is about to roll off the tip of her tongue.

 

"Alfie seems lovely." Bingo.  
I pull out a drawer to stow away the plates, sighing, "No, Mom."  
"What? I'm just saying—"  
"I know what you're saying, and I'm saying no. He is off-limits. Very off-limits." I tell her, looking her in the eyes.   
It's her turn to sigh, and she literally throws in the towel. She crosses her arms at me, saying, "You're allowed to have fun too, Eleanor."  
I laugh, rubbing her arms assuringly. "Mom, I have plenty of fun. Don't you worry about me; worry about Carrie and I drinking all of your wine tonight."  
I grin and grab a bottle of wine, and a few wine glasses, from the cabinet next to fridge behind me.

 

She frowns. "Responsibly, I hope."  
"Hey, I'm allowed to have fun too, Mom," I reply smugly.

 

I head back out to the living room where Carrie, Alfie, and my father are talking about a crappy TV show from the sounds of it.

 

Alfie is exclaiming madly, “Carrie, it’s a good show!”  
“I’m not interested in cheap laughs at the expense of women, thank you very much."  
“Okay, fine. But can we at least agree that _Bones_ is fantastic?"  
“You only like _Bones_ because you have a thing for Sweets - he’s the reason you wanted be a psychologist!"  
"To be fair, Sweets is very well-adjusted," Dad adds, to which Alfie raises a hand in his direction for a high-five. Dad, somewhat reluctantly, doesn't leave him hanging.  
"See? Henry gets it!" Alfie says, as if he's proven his point. I don't know what it is, but seeing him be so non-chalant and friendly with my Dad makes me stiffen. Ignoring it, I sit down beside Carrie and put the wine and glasses on the coffee table.

 

She groans, "Thank God you're here - and with wine! It's a Christmas miracle!"  
She immediately opens the bottle and pours a glass for each of us.

 

I go to turn off my phone, so that I don't do anything that I'll regret later, though it seems redundant considering that the only person I'd regret texting or calling is sitting opposite me. Before I hit the power off button, I make a snap decision to send a few Merry Christmasses. I check off recipients: my supervisor, a few co-workers...and Tom. He had sent me his UK number so we'd be able to keep in touch when he's not in the US. My thumb hovers over his name for a second, wondering if I should bother. But it is Christmas, after all, so before I can overthink even more, I add him to the list and send the seasonal greetings. Quickly, before any of them can reply, I shut down my device and pick up my glass.

 

"What's up?" Carrie murmurs to me, as I put away my phone.  
I shake my head, smiling. "Just sending some holiday messages," I answer.  
"Ooh, to anyone in particular?" She asks suggestively and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Alfie lean toward us.  
Before I can reply to her, or indulge him with an answer, my father clears his throat and raises his glass.

 

"A toast," he says. "To new friends and spending the holidays with family, biological or not."  
Carrie gives him a teary smile, and I grin as I wrap my free arm around my best friend.

 

Alfie nods his thanks and says, "Cheers to that."

 

We clink our glasses, and drink our wine; the first glass of many that night.

 

The three of us ended up staying the night at my parents’, upon my mother’s insistence. We hadn’t had that much to drink, but she deemed us "unfit to ride in a cab" and our objections were no use.

 

"We should get going," I said, rationality still strong in my slightly tipsy state.  
Carrie's eyes widened when she say the time. She exclaimed, "Oh my God, it's almost 2am! Alfie! Call a cab."  
"Alright," he agreed, his voice slurring that one word. He patted his pockets for his phone and I'm sure I was the only one to see his confused expression when he couldn't find it, because I was the only one giggling. He looked up at me and grinned incredulously, and we broke into laughter.

 

"No, no, no, no, no!" Mom objected. "You should all sleepover! Ed and Theodore aren't here, Carrie and Alfie you can stay in their rooms, and Elle you can sleep in your old room."

 

"It's fine, Mom, we can get home okay," I insisted.  
"Yeah, we'll be fine! We don't want to be a hassle," Carrie agreed. She turned to her step-brother and asked, "Have you called a cab yet?"  
Alfie shrugged. "I don't know where my phone is."  
"You had one job!"

 

Mom, who was adamant about this impromptu sleepover, shook her head. "It's no trouble! Their rooms are all made up, just as they left them. Carrie, I'm sure Elle has some spare pyjamas you can borrow - and Alfie you're about the same size as my oldest son, there should be something in his closet you can wear."

 

I led Carrie to the room opposite mine, and gave her some clothes for the night and the next morning, while my Dad - thank the Lord - dealt with Alfie and showed him to Theo's room down the hall.

 

So that's how we wound up staying the night. Naturally, I was the last person to wake up. Alcohol and my sleeping habits combine to make a wake-up time of 11am, but the scent of breakfast is still wafting into my room so I know that I'm not too late to the party.

 

I get dressed, grabbing a sweater and trackpants from my closet. Thankfully everything still fits, since I haven't grown much since high school.

 

I'm slightly hungover, the last thing I'm worried about is my looks, but apparently I have greater concerns - such as Alfie, waiting to pounce, outside my room.

 

"Morning, sunshine," he says, a sly smirk on his lips. I want to slap it off his face.  
Smiling back, sweetly, I reply. "Good morning. Why aren't you downstairs with everyone else?"

 

I step forward, towards the stairs and unavoidably towards him. He mirrors my action, taking a step towards me, and we are far too close for comfort.

 

"I just came up to make the bed. Clean up my mess, and all."

 

The way he says bed makes me physically shiver, and not in a good way. I just want to get downstairs but he's leaning against the wall with his arm, succesfully blocking my path, and he switches sides when I try to divert him.

 

Huffing, still trying to maintain a kind smile, I say, "Well, I'm starving. If you'll excuse me..."

 

Before I can try to slip past him, he looks up above us and makes a surprised noise. "Huh, would you look at that!"  
I decide to humor him and I look up. I'm really not surprised when I see what he's looking at.

 

He shrugs, and the smugness drips off his voice when he says, "Mistletoe. Now how did that get there?"

 

Against my better judgement, I laugh loudly. He just looks confused, the poor guy, and I take the opportunity to slip away from his arm barrier.

 

"Nice try, Alfie."

 

"Hey, you can't just walk off!" He exclaims, and he sounds like a whining child. "Tradition says that two people have to kiss if they're under the mistletoe!"

 

"Uh huh, well, I'll take a pass on tradition this morning," I tell him, as I walk downstairs.

 

I genuinely grin at him because, in less than 10 minutes, I've reduced him from a smug bastard to a whining child on Christmas morning, and I didn't even have to physically touch him to make him lose all his pride.

 

Merry Christmas, indeed.

 


	5. January, 2012: Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs of the Chapter:  
> \- Magic by Coldplay  
> \- Same Old Love by Selena Gomez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible writer and I am so, so, so sorry for putting this on hold for so long! Writer's block hit me really hard and I couldn't find the right words to say what I wanted. 
> 
>  
> 
> BUT HERE WE ARE! NEW CHAPTER! Thanks to all those who have bookmarked/kudos-ed/commented/read this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy! x

With 5 hours until the new year, Carrie and I have already hit the town. Along with Alfie, but he's far too busy flirting with the waitress or on his phone to be even remotely present in our conversation.

  


"I can't believe it's already been a year," Carries laments.  
"And it's been, what, 2 years or so since you met Pete? But nothing's happened between you two yet...must be a record."

  


That earns me a shove from Carrie, though I can see that she’s hiding a smile so I know I haven't crossed a line.

  


"Speak for yourself. How long have you known Tom?" She counters.

  


Alfie looks up from his phone at the mention of Tom. I try not to look at him when he does, because I know he just wants attention. The mere mention of another guy has him on edge and, to be honest, it's pretty entertaining to see him bothered by it.

  


Smiling, I fiddle with my straw and shake my head at Carrie. "Known him or known _of_ him?" I ask.

"Both."

  


Alfie decides at that point to verbally join the conversation. He clears his throat and asks, "Who's Tom?"  
I stifle a laugh, replying, "Just some guy."  
"Ha! Yeah, he's just some guy. No big deal," Carrie laughs, raising her glass at me.

  


Alfie furrows his brow from confusion, then my phone vibrates in my pocket. I raise my eyebrows at the name of the sender, and my expression must give me away because Carrie starts up again.

  


"It's him, isn't it?" She asks giddily, and I swear she is bouncing in her seat.  
Opening the message, I murmur, "Speak of the devil."  
"Speak of the goddamn devil!" Carrie grins, slapping her hand on the table. "What did he say? Is he in New York? Did he ask you to meet him somewhere?"

  


Ignoring her, I read his message: the words 'happy new year', in all caps, with far too many exclamation marks, and far too early.

  


I quickly reply, and put my phone face down on the table.

  


 _You're about 5 hours too early, Hiddleston._

  


"What did he say?"  
"Happy New Year. It's barely 7 o'clock."  
"Elle, he's probably not in America! Time difference!" Carrie exclaims, and snaps her fingers at me.

  


I groan, brushing the hair off my face. He’s texting from his UK number. Of course! He had mentioned that he'd be home for the holidays since London is only a few hours away from where he's working.

  


"What's the time difference between here and London?"  
"How do you know he's in London?"  
"I just know, okay?"

  


While our riveting conversation goes on, I see Alfie sit up straighter and his jaw jut out the slightest bit. His grip on his phone seems to get tighter as his knuckles are blanching, but he stays silent.

  


Carrie grabs my phone from me and before I can react it's back in my hands. And it's dialing Tom.

  


"Carrie!" I shout a bit too loudly.  
She shushes me and shoves the phone to my ear and when she does the ringing stops. He picked up. Here we go.

  


He beats me to the punch with a greeting, thank God. I'm a bit speechless, unsure of what to say more than anything else.

  


"Happy New Year!" Tom says, and I can hear the child-like grin on his face.

"Hey!" I say, letting go of deep breath, smiling. “Happy New Year! You’re a few hours early for New York time."

He laughs. “Sorry, I forgot about the time difference. I’m in London for the holidays!"  
“Good to be home?"  
“It’s fantastic! I’m filming the BBC series I was telling you about, the set's only a couple of hours away, so I haven’t been too far from home."

  


Carrie keeps on making suggestions of what to ask while I talk, so I cover the mouthpiece on my phone so none of her cruder ideas get through to Tom ("Ask him who he kissed at midnight! Actually, ask what he'd do with you at midnight!").

  


"Hang on, gimme a second," I tell Tom. I shake my head at Carrie and step outside, away from her and Alfie. She hisses a quick "I hate you" just as I leave my seat.

  


Stepping outside may have been a mistake because, holy hell, is it cold.

  


"Sorry, it was a bit noisy inside." I say through the phone, shivering audibly as I do.  
"Oh, have you gone out?"  
"Yeah, New Year's tradition. Whether I like it or not. I mean, someone's got to make sure Carrie gets home safe."  
He laughs, and I can just imagine his smile as he does. "Such responsibility," he teases.  
"It's my best quality," I admit.  
Tom hums. "Of which I'm sure you have many."

  


I know he's joking but I can't help but blush. Instinctively, I look around as if I'm expecting someone to be eavesdropping. Honestly I wouldn't put it past Carrie.

  


We're quiet for a beat before I clear my throat. "So what's it like in the future?" I ask.

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Any resolutions for the New Year?"

"Well, one is to not be peer-pressured into into going out but, considering that my birthday is in a few days, I'm not sure how long that's going to hold up."

  


"Hang on — your birthday is soon?" He asks, incredulously, as if he expected that I would have told him at some point.

"Yeah. 5th day of the year. Overshadowed by the most celebrated holidays," I answer with a joking lilt. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I am forcing a smile. He doesn't need to see it though.  
"Huh. January 5th?" He confirms, sounding genuinely interested. "You should have told me!"  
"It's not a big deal," I insist, shrugging. "When's yours?"  
"February 9th." He pauses for a second then chuckles. "I'm surprised you haven't googled me yet."

  


At that I scoff, a grin making its way onto my face. "Careful, Tom, your ego is showing."

His laughter rings loudly through the phone, and I can't help but grin because of it. I take the opportunity to tease him a little bit more. "And who says that I haven't?"

  


Tom calms down almost immediately. He clears his throat and asks, “So, you have?"

  


He doesn't sound angry, more incredulous than anything. Is he always so incredulous when he's, presumably, had a few?

  


"Why do you want to know?" I counter.  
"Just curious, is all."  
"Curiosity killed the cat."  
"Ah, but satisfaction brought it back."

  


  
_Oh, he's good,_ I think to myself. Apparently I said it aloud too, without realising.

  


"Darling, I know I'm good. But in what way do you mean right now?" He asks.

  


Who knew a smug smirk could transmit through the phone? I only hope that flustered blushes don't do the same.

  


"Not many people know the end of that proverb, so..." I trail off, waving my hands around in front of me, as if to conjure up words that are completely escaping me. "...you're good, I guess."

  


Tom laughs again, and finally admits, "Look I probably would've by now. Google'd you, I mean, if the roles were reversed."

  


"Touché. Though there is one fatal flaw in your way of thinking, Hiddleston."

"And what's that?"

"I'm not you."

"Alright, fair point," he concedes, chuckling.

  


He has a laugh that's as melodic as it is distinct. I don't know why I've paid so much attention to his laugh, though I guess it's impossible to not have done so since his joy is absolutely viral.  


I find myself grinning because of this when I ask him the same question that he asked to begin with. "What about you? Any resolutions that will undoubtedly be broken?"  


He sighs, one of those powerful 'that-is-an-amazing-question' kind of sighs. "Well, I think it's just working hard and giving it my all. Enjoying every moment as it comes, you know?"

  
"Working more? Is that even possible?" I exclaim. Is he for real? "You haven't even wrapped Henry yet."

"Not yet, no," he answers quickly.

"Then, after that, I’m assuming it's more Avengers stuff?"

"Yeah, a huge press tour. We're going to all sorts of places. We’ll probably be back in New York at some point!"

  


I almost laugh, asking, "You never stop do you?"

  


"No, not yet." Tom replies. There’s a slight change in his tone, like a diminished chord. “Eventually, though. When it's time to settle down, with the right person, I'll slow down."

"I can't imagine that."

"What, me taking time off?” He asks, and the major chord is back. That joyful lilt is back in his voice, as well as his transmissible smile.

  


"Yeah, you're so work-oriented."

"Well, like I said: right time, right person."

"So Susannah's not the right person?"

  


I think I’ve struck a nerve. No, actually, I know I’ve struck a nerve because he pauses for so long that I have to check if he's still on the line.

  


Hesitantly, I speak. “Tom?"

“It’s complicated.” He answers, clearing his throat. Another awkward pause. Good job, me.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, you're alright. It's just…” He laughs humourlessly, “…complicated. Sorry, I just brought down the mood so much!"

  


There’s another lull and I decide that I should just quit while I’m ahead. Save us both from an uncomfortable situation.

  


“Listen, I have to go but it was great talking to you again,” I tell him, apologetically. “Happy New Year, Tom."

“Yeah, and you! Happy New Year, Elle."

  


We hang up and, with a shiver and a huff, I head back inside to another —inevitable — interrogation.

  


"What did he say?" Carrie asks as soon as I'm in front of her.

"Nothing of interest."

She blows a raspberry. "Yeah, right! Spill."

"Oh, would you look at the time! We should get going if you want to nab some good guys."

"Don't change the topic!"

  


I roll my eyes and turn to our male companion, who is still busily fiddling with his phone. "Are you ready to go?" I ask him.

Alfie nods and puts his phone away, grinning at me. "Yeah, let's go," he answers, placing his hand on my lower back. I stiffen at the contact, and he clearly realises my discomfort because he removes his hand, almost immediately, to grasp Carrie's shoulders. "Come on, sis. Let's see which one of us gets the most free drinks tonight. Of course I'll win but a little friendly competition never hurt anybody, right?"

  


Carrie snorts at her step-brother's challenge. "You're on, big guy." 

  


Surprisingly that's all it takes for us to start bar-hopping, and we move from bar to pub to club until we finally settle on a party somewhere in Tribeca. Carrie is chatting it up with a fine looking guy, who joined us after she met him at our first stop, and Alfie is totally in character and getting close to a random girl on the dancefloor. I am standing by at the bar, just making sure that Carrie doesn't get roofied and Alfie doesn't grope a girl who actually has a muscle-man of a boyfriend. Standard procedure.

  


I've had maybe 3 drinks over the course of the night, but somehow time still gets away from me with super-speed because the countdown is starting and all of sudden everything is happening too fast.

  


_10...9...8..._

  


Alfie is next to me in a flash, wrapping an arm around my waist.

  


_7...6...5..._

  


He whispers the countdown in my ear and involuntarily I shiver. His breath is heavy, his speech is slurred, and he pulls my back into his front. 

  


_4...3...2..._

  


Alfie spins me around in his arms so that I'm facing him — his face dangerously close to my own — and I quickly whip my head around to look for Carrie, and make sure that she's okay. She and Bar #1 guy are way ahead of the countdown and just going for it, sucking faces like there's no tomorrow.

  


_1..._

  


I turn and face Alfie again and I see the look in his eyes. I know what he wants. In the split-second before people start shouting "HAPPY NEW YEAR", I dodge my lips out of the way and instead plant a light peck on his cheek. 

  


"Happy New Year, Alfie." I say curtly. As I go to push away, his grip on my waist tightens as he pulls me closer again.

  


"C'mon, Elle. It's just a kiss."

  


I don't quite know what comes over me but, before I can process what's happening, I am kissing Alfie. Yeah, he tastes gross — all the alcohols mix together creating a foul, possibly toxic, flavour — but dear God have I forgotten what I was missing. Alfie is a brilliant kisser. No matter how much he annoys me, or how drunk he is, the man knows how to kiss. 

  


I'm just about to pull back from his intoxicating lips when I feel a hand roughly grip my shoulder and force me away instead. I can feel my cheeks are flushed, my lips are swollen, and that's really all I can feel or think about right now. Wow.

  


"Dude, gross!" Carrie yells, mainly at Alfie. She gives him another wobbly shove away from me for good measure. Overwhelmingly hammered, but still looking out for me in her inebriation; that's my best friend.

  


Alfie shrugs, holding his hands up in surrender. I can't find it in me to physically emote, but he smiles cheekily, and simply says, "It's just a kiss."

  


It's always just a kiss. And then he leaves. 

  


He's gone the next day, back to D.C., and it's not like I expected him to stick around for my birthday — or even remember it — but it stings when he doesn't even text a greeting. How childish of me.

  


The feeling doesn't last long because Carrie takes me out to dinner ("I like wining and I like dining, so if some guy isn't going to do that with you on your birthday I will gladly fill the position!"). I'm a homebody at heart so we go out with my parents, and spending time with my best friend and family is the greatest. They make me forget about all that's bothering me; it's like I enter a bubble when I'm with them and nothing else matters except this moment right here, right now.

  


When I get home I'm giggly and happy, feeling the best I've felt all year which, to be fair, hasn't been that long — and I'm not thinking about Alfie anymore. Or maybe I am. Ugh.

  


  


My phone died at some point, but that’s okay; I’m sure no one, besides my brothers, would have had any reason to contact me. Unless there was a work emergency. Oh God, I hope there wasn’t a work emergency — knowing my luck, the one night I let my phone die would be the night that there’s a work emergency. 

  


Thankfully, when my phone finally starts up, I have no new notifications from work but there is a message. From Tom. Okay.

  


_Happy birthday, Elle! Hope you made an exception to your resolution tonight ;-) T x_

  


I’m grinning like an idiot and I almost giggle at my own reaction. Maybe it’s the wine — it’s probably the wine — but I feel my cheeks heat and overreact because of a single message from Tom.

  


A single message, and he’s reduced me to a blushing schoolgirl.

  


A single message, and he’s relieved me of work-anxiety and made me feel important.

  


A single message, and I’m starting to think that maybe Alfie isn’t such a big deal after all.


End file.
